Pain
by SherlockianWhovian
Summary: Sherlock uses his fists to show his displeasure with Mycroft.
1. Chapter 1

John went straight into the kitchen when he returned home from his job at the clinic. He busied himself with putting his shopping away and cleaning the table and the kitchen counters. It was only once he'd finished his tidying that he ventured into the living room. He froze in the doorway at the scene before him. Sherlock was sat in his armchair, perfectly calmly, whilst his elder brother lay on the floor just a few feet away. Drops of Mycroft's blood had stained the carpet

"Sherlock? What the hell happened?" John demanded as he made his way over to Mycroft. He kneeled beside the man and lifted his thin wrist, checking for a pulse. He was relieved when he found a steady pulse and he began examining Mycroft's injuries.

"Leave him, John. He's not fatally injured. He's unconscious due to a concussion." Sherlock said, picking up his violin and plucking at the strings.

"Did you do this to him? Why?" John asked, turning to look at his flatmate.

"Do I need a reason? He's controlling. He needed to be reminded to leave me alone." Sherlock replied.

" _Reminded_? Please tell me you've not done this before. This is abuse, Sherlock!" John shouted.

"Mycroft is fine. He can look after himself." Sherlock dismissed.

"I'm calling an ambulance. He's bleeding, so that's not a good sign." John said, pulling out his mobile and dialling 999.

"He fell." was Sherlock's lacklustre excuse when the paramedics arrived. They didn't believe him but were more interested in rushing their patient to hospital.

* * *

John was surprised when a bruised and battered Mycroft arrived at 221B just four days later. Sherlock had been calm but had refused to tell John about the attack. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better. It was quite a fall I had." Mycroft replied, limping slightly as he moved to sit down.

"A fall? You didn't fall and you know it." John said, watching the elder Holmes brother.

"My memories are a little blurred due to the concussion." Mycroft replied as an explanation.

"Has he done this before? Hurt you, I mean?" John asked, trying his best to sound reassuring and friendly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dr Watson." Mycroft said, wearing his usual mask of indifference.

"What are you doing here, brother?" Sherlock asked, walking out of his bedroom and into the living room.

"I brought stain remover with me, to clean the blood out of your carpet." Mycroft replied, holding up the spray bottle.

"Good. Get on the floor and start cleaning." Sherlock said, challenging his brother.

Mycroft didn't move for a few moments, holding Sherlock's gaze. With a sigh, he slipped off his suit jacket and moved to kneel on the floor. He sprayed some of the bleach onto the carpet and used his handkerchief to scrub at the bloodstains.

John stood and watched, genuinely shocked that the government official was cleaning his own blood from the carpet. "Mycroft, you don't have to do that." he said.

"Yes, he does, John. It's his blood." Sherlock replied, "A little manual labour won't do him any harm."

John frowned, looking between them. He didn't understand the strange atmosphere that filled the room. It was obvious that Sherlock had attacked Mycroft, but he still didn't know the context behind it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mycroft sighed, looking over at his six year-old brother. He was a genius, his brain working much faster than those of other six year-olds. It made Sherlock isolated and he knew his brother longed for friends to show off to. Mycroft did his best to be a friend and a mentor, trying to guide Sherlock through the difficulties of above average intelligence. It was a gift but Sherlock didn't understand that yet._

 _"Why is everyone so boring?" Sherlock asked, his large blue eyes gazing up at Mycroft._

 _Mycroft sighed, "It's because you're special, Sherlock. We're both special. The rest of the world doesn't move at the pace that we do." he replied._

 _"I hate it." Sherlock declared._

 _"I know, brother." Mycroft soothed gently, "It's frustrating, but you'll learn to cope."_

 _"I just feel so angry, Mycroft. I want to hit things." Sherlock tried to explain. He struggled to voice his emotions, but he knew his older brother would understand._

 _"Then hit me. I'd rather that than you break any of Mummy's china." Mycroft suggested._

* * *

John barely saw Mycroft from then on. He knew that the elder Holmes still visited his younger brother, but it was always when John was at work or out shopping. He knew this was deliberate so he took an afternoon off when he was supposed to be working and came home at lunchtime on a Friday, determined to know what was happening while he was out of the flat.

"Sherlock! Stop!" he shouted when he entered the flat. Just a few feet away, Mycroft was shirtless and Sherlock was hitting his back repeatedly with a belt. Deep red welts covered Mycroft's torso but the politician remained still and silent, allowing his little brother to hit him. Sherlock stopped and dropped the belt, panting as adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream. Hitting his brother had become an addiction and he dreamed of hearing Mycroft scream. Mycroft never allowed a single sound to leave his lips, as he'd been trained to handle torture far worse than Sherlock's beatings.

"Dr Watson." he addressed John with a nod, flexing his muscles a little before he reached for his shirt.

"What is going on? Why are you letting him do this to you?" John demanded of Mycroft.

"I can't say no to my little brother." Mycroft replied with a fond smile.

"Sit down. I'm going to treat your back before I let you put your shirt on." John said with a sigh, not pressing the brothers for any further information. He got his medical kit out from the kitchen cupboard and brought it out to the living room.

Sherlock was watching John, a mixture of curiosity, confusion and shock on his face. He hadn't meant for John to see this side of him and he was worried about what his flatmate's reaction would be.

John didn't say a word as he carefully tended to the welts on Mycroft's torso. He was very gentle, knowing that the marks must be painful despite Mycroft's mask of indifference. He dabbed ointment on with cotton wool and put dressings over the deeper welts. Once he was done, he helped Mycroft into his shirt and waistcoat. "Okay. Talk." he finally said.

"We have an arrangement." Mycroft admitted, buttoning his shirt quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Here's a new chapter! Please review and let me know what you think!_**

* * *

 _"I have a deal for you, brother." Sherlock said as he lounged around in his brother's home. After his drug overdose, he'd been forced to live in Mycroft's house._

 _"A deal? You're not in a position to bargain, brother mine." Mycroft replied from his armchair._

 _"My bargain is this; I'll quit the drugs but you can't say no to me anymore." Sherlock offered._

 _Mycroft looked up from his paperwork and frowned, "Elaborate." he said._

 _"When I want to hit you for being annoying then you can't say no." Sherlock explained._

 _"I agree to your bargain, however I have one condition that must be followed." Mycroft replied._

 _"Which is?" Sherlock asked._

 _"All beatings must be private. I have a reputation to uphold." Mycroft answered._

 _"Deal." Sherlock agreed with a dark smile. He had his brother exactly where he wanted him._

* * *

"Your arrangement is that your brother can hit you as much as he likes and you can't argue? That doesn't seem like a very good deal, Mycroft." John said.

"I prefer this to losing my little brother to drug addiction." Mycroft replied sharply.

"This isn't healthy, Mycroft." John sighed, "You may think that you can cope with being beaten up, but it will be affecting you mentally."

"There is nothing wrong with his mind, John. He's as insufferable as ever." Sherlock said, sitting down in his chair.

"Apologies, John. As much as I'd love to sit here and talk about _feelings_ , I have meetings to attend." Mycroft said, getting to his feet and moving towards the door.

"I'll see you next week, brother dear." Sherlock called as Mycroft walked towards the stairs.

"What? No! This stops. Now." John exclaimed, frustrated by the two brothers.

"The Diogenes Club then?" Mycroft suggested to his brother.

"No!" John shouted, "Changing location is not what I'm saying!"

"We made an agreement, John. A private agreement between two consenting adults." Sherlock said with a frown.

"Consenting? Is your brother consenting or does he just not want you to kill yourself with heroin?" John exclaimed as Mycroft quietly slipped out, going down to his car.

"That's the same thing." Sherlock shrugged, "I really don't see the problem."

"He was unconscious on our living room floor the last time I saw him!" John shouted, "That was worrying enough, but what if you go too far? You could kill him, Sherlock!"

"You're being dramatic." Sherlock sighed, "There is no risk to Mycroft. He survived years as an undercover agent, so a few punches are nothing."

"I can't stand-by and let this happen, Sherlock. It's not right." John said, leaning against the desk, "If you want adrenaline, go to the gym. Can't you take up kick boxing or get a punchbag?"

"I have a punchbag. I can experiment too. Mycroft is useful for cases." Sherlock protested.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, "What would your mother say if she knew what you were doing?"

"Mummy is unaware of many things, John. She doesn't realize how high up Mycroft is in the government, despite the fact that he practically flaunts it." Sherlock muttered.

"Don't change the subject." John sighed, "You can't do this to Mycroft. He would never lay a hand on you so why is it acceptable for you to batter him? You're brothers for goodness sake!"

"Mycroft isn't an angel, John. He's killed and tortured people. I'm giving him what he deserves!" Sherlock shouted.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all those who have followed and favourited this story. Special mention to CA Hawkins, whose comment made me start writing for this work again.**_

* * *

"I have stood by and witnessed many of your strange quirks, Sherlock, but I will not allow this to continue. Mycroft is your brother, he's older than you and he isn't immortal. You could seriously harm him. You're already causing scarring." John sighed, looking up at his flatmate.

"What do you suggest then, Doctor?" Sherlock asked from his armchair.

"Medication, therapy or more cases. Maybe you could throw yourself into a cold case? It would give you adrenaline." John suggested as he sat down opposite Sherlock.

"Cold cases are so tedious." Sherlock groaned.

"You need to do something, Sherlock. Go to the morgue and get some body parts. Your experiments usually keep you occupied." John replied with a sigh, "Just leave Mycroft alone for a while, okay?"

* * *

"Take Sherlock out of my schedule, Anthea." Mycroft told his assistant once he was back in his office.

"Yes, Sir. Shall I book meetings for the time slots or keep them free?" Anthea asked.

"Keep them free for now." Mycroft replied, "Sherlock will probably need my assistance despite the cancellation of our appointments."

"Yes, Sir." Anthea replied, not commenting as her boss poured himself a glass of whiskey.

Mycroft sat down at his desk, placing the glass down carefully. He glanced down at the paperwork that was waiting for his signature, but he couldn't concentrate. His thoughts constantly wandered back to his brother. He couldn't stand the thought of Sherlock returning to drugs after so many years of being clean.

* * *

"Bored!" Sherlock shouted, throwing kitchen knives like darts into the living room wall.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, wincing a little as another knife plowed into the wall, "You're going to have to redecorate if you continue at this rate!"

"Did you need something, Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock asked, picking up another knife to throw.

"Oh Sherlock, you need to get out of the house. Isn't there a case you can go on?" Mrs Hudson asked as she carefully dusted the skull on the mantelpiece.

"I'm trying to prove a point to John, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock replied.

"Which is?" Mrs Hudson asked, turning to face him.

"That I need adrenaline or my mind stagnates." Sherlock said, throwing another knife and embedding it into the wall.

"Can you not ask your brother for a case?" Mrs Hudson suggested.

"No! Mycroft is the problem!" Sherlock sneered, "He's caused John to meddle."

"Honestly Sherlock, your brother isn't to blame for everything." Mrs Hudson sighed.

"Yes, he is." Sherlock replied with a frown, "He is to blame for most of the negative memories in my mind palace."


	5. Chapter 5

_"I'm the smart one, Sherlock. You're so slow, Sherlock. Stop being childish. You're so tedious, little brother." Mycroft's past words echoed around Sherlock's mind palace, escaping their relevant memories._

 _"Shut up, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped at his brother's voice, walking through the halls of his mind palace as he tried to escape from his boredom._

 _"You need a case, Sherlock." Mycroft's stern voice morphed into Jim Moriarty's sing-song voice._

 _"Get out of my head!" Sherlock shouted, throwing open the front door and leaving his mind palace._

* * *

"Call Mycroft." Sherlock sighed as he opened his eyes, looking over at John.

"No, you agreed to leave him alone." John replied, looking up from his laptop.

"I don't want him for that, John. I need a case." Sherlock replied, getting to his feet and walking to the window, "I need the thrill of a case."

"I'll call him." John agreed, getting to his feet and taking his mobile out from his pocket. He walked into the kitchen and dialled Mycroft's number.

 _"Hello John. Can I help you?"_ came Anthea's voice as she answered Mycroft's phone.

"Has Mycroft got any cases for Sherlock? He's practically climbing the walls with boredom." John said.

 _"I'll check with Mr Holmes. I'll just put you on hold."_ Anthea replied, clicking a button on the phone.

John moved the phone away from his ear and chuckled a little as he was serenaded with violin concertos whilst on hold. He moved around the kitchen, casually tidying the surfaces as he waited for Anthea to take him off hold.

 _"Mr Holmes-"_ Anthea started.

"Do you ever just call him Mycroft?" John interrupted, curiosity overtaking his manners.

There was a pause before Anthea spoke again, _"No. Mr Holmes will be with you within the hour."_ she said before she ended the call.

John put the mobile back into his pocket before he rejoined Sherlock in the living room, "He's on his way." he said.

* * *

Mycroft strolled into the room gracefully, swinging his umbrella a little at his side.

"The Queen is here." Sherlock practically snarled.

"There's no need to be immature, Sherlock." Mycroft replied coldly.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Mycroft?" John called from the kitchen.

"Yes. Black with no sugar." Mycroft replied as he sat down opposite his brother.

"No sugar, brother? Are you dieting again?" Sherlock sneered.

"No. I felt like a change actually." Mycroft said in response.

John brought out the tea on a tray and placed a cup down beside both Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Thank you, John." Mycroft said but Sherlock said nothing.

"Do you have a case for him?" John asked as he sat down on the sofa a few feet away.

"I do. If he wants it." Mycroft replied, his eyes fixed on Sherlock. The two brothers were staring at each other, clearly having a private and silent conversation.

John sipped at his tea as he looked down at the faded floral rug that covered the old floorboards. He looked back up when Sherlock finally spoke.

"I'll take it." Sherlock said, "But as a favour to you. You'll owe me."

Mycroft sighed, "I don't have time for your games, brother dear. No favours or deals, I want a yes or a no."

"Then yes. I will take your case. Reluctantly." Sherlock sneered, picking up his cup of tea and glaring at Mycroft.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Here's the final chapter! Please review.**_

* * *

"What's the case?" John asked curiously once Mycroft was gone.

"Mycroft has a mole in his office. Someone is trying to get to him. He's next on the hitlist if we don't catch the person." Sherlock replied, flicking through the document his brother had given him, "Interesting, but barely a 7." he added.

"You've worked it out already?" John asked in surprise.

"Of course. It's the chauffeur." Sherlock replied.

"The chauffeur? The chauffeur that Mycroft just got into a car with?" John asked.

"Yes. The chauffeur." Sherlock repeated, not seeing the significance for a moment, "Oh. Suddenly we're on an 8! This is brilliant, John! Catch the killer before he kills!"

* * *

After two hours of chasing Mycroft's car around the city, they finally tracked it down to an abandoned car park in the East End.

"It's empty." Sherlock hissed in frustration after looking inside.

There were two gunshots from a nearby industrial estate.

Sherlock took off running, with John close behind him. They saw a man with a gun running away and Mycroft not moving on the floor.

"Mycroft." Sherlock gasped, kneeling beside his brother.

"Go after him! I'll sort Mycroft out." John urged.

Sherlock nodded and took off after the man.

"Dr Watson." Mycroft murmured, looking up at the man.

"You've been shot." John said, buttoning Mycroft's waistcoat and opening his shirt, locating two bullet wounds in the elder Holmes' abdomen.

"I am aware, Doctor." Mycroft replied with his usual sarcastic smirk.

"You're losing a lot of blood. I'm going to try and help, but it's going to hurt." John warned, moving to put pressure on the wounds.

"I'm already in pain, John. I don't care what you have to do." Mycroft replied.

John nodded and got to work. Mycroft remarkably kept himself quiet and calm, trying to ignore the searing pain.

* * *

Sherlock returned once the secret service had taken the man away. Paramedics had arrived too by that time, but there was little that they could do for the elder Holmes brother. John had done his best, but he couldn't stop the blood.

"Sherlock." Mycroft gasped out and Sherlock kneeled beside his brother.

"I'm here. It won't be long now, brother." Sherlock assured, taking Mycroft's hand in a rare show of sentiment.

"I didn't mind." Mycroft murmured.

"What?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

"The beatings. I just wanted you to talk to me." Mycroft replied with a choking laugh.

Sherlock let out a slight laugh, "Very clever." he said. He looked Mycroft over sadly; the blood flow seemed to have slowed considerably.

"Be careful, 'Lock." Mycroft murmured.

"Come and play pirates with me, brother. Close your eyes and join me in the garden." Sherlock said gently, "Can you see the garden? And me? And Redbeard?"

Mycroft nodded, a smile on his pale face.

"We're all out there together. Playing pirates." Sherlock said quietly to himself, as Mycroft was already gone.

"You were right." Sherlock said as he stood beside John.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"I spent years hitting him and hating him but he only ever wanted the best for me." Sherlock replied. He looked up at the umbrella that was protecting them from the rain. He walked forward and put the umbrella down so it protected the black polished marble headstone from the downpour.


End file.
